Fabricating Demons
by RissaAngel
Summary: One must wonder how Barty Crouch Jr. knew so much about Moody that he could pretend to be him effectively while under the effects of the polyjuice potion. A story of Barty and Moody's first introduction over a holiday dinner.


**Fabricating Demons  
**Larissa  
November, 2004  
Disclaimer: No profit is derived from this fic, and all characters belong to JK Rowling

* * *

The upper class community of Highgate was lit up with holiday lights, wreathes were carefully placed on every doorway, and the roofs were covered in a thin layer of snow. There were evergreen boughs swathed about the porch rails, and twinkling lights bordered the windows and doorways. It was quite breathtaking to see, and many drivers took delight in scoping out the holiday cheer.Within every few cars would be a child with his or her nose pressed flat against the window, eyes lit up with excitement and awe.

Candles flickered in the windows of a modestly sized house, which had a giant wreath with a cranberry bow hanging on the door. Though it was, by no means, the jolliest house on the block—that would be the house with the full sized reindeer on the roof—it was cheerful enough. In fact, from the outside, the house was completely indiscernible from its neighbours.

That, of course, was how Bartemius Crouch Sr. liked to keep it.

In an upstairs bedroom of this house, a boy with straw-coloured hair was sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling. His book, _Advanced Muggle Studies_, was lying abandoned at his side. Instead of focusing on current trends in muggle architecture, Barty's mind was swimming with images of a certain former Slytherin whom he had been somewhat smitten with since his first year at school. Her heavy lidded eyes and long, dark hair was drifting through his mind, and he began to think about the first time she spoke to him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Barty, dear," said him mother's voice, tentatively. She pushed the door open slightly and popped her head in. Barty turned onto his side, propping his head up with one arm and gesturing her towards him with the other.

"Come in, mum."

Mrs. Crouch smiled at her son as she stepped forward into the room, her pale yellow robes swishing about her. Barty returned the grin slowly as he surveyed her. She was becoming thinner every day, and although she looked nice in her dress robes, she still seemed to be fragile. Barty was worried for her.

"Someone's coming for dinner," he said, eyeing her wardrobe.

"Yes, Barty, honey, your father is having someone from the Ministry over for dinner," she replied.

"And he wants to make sure I'm tidy to keep up appearances."

"Now, now, dear. Your father is just trying to have a nice, respectable—"

"Respectable? Are you certain he even _wants_ me there, then? Winky could easily bring me up a tray," he said, frowning at her.

She sighed and approached him, attempting to brush his fringe away from his eyes. "We both want you there, dear." Her eyes flickered to the book on his bed. "Always studying," she said absently, "just like your father."

Barty wrinkled his nose at her.

"One day, you'll be doing great things for the ministry, too," she added. "It's important that you begin making connections. One dinner won't hurt."

"I suppose not."

"Good." She bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Dinner is at six, love, but we want you ready and in our parlour by a quarter to." With that, she whisked out of the bedroom, no doubt to check on Winky and the dinner preparations.

Barty looked at the clock. It was half past five—barely enough time for him to get ready. He stood up slowly, feeling his back pop into place, and walked over to his wardrobe. His robes were all colour coordinated, except for his school robes, which were hanging on the far left. He could just make out the silver and green patch peeking out from one set. He half wanted to put them on, merely to irritate his father, but he picked out a set of deep indigo ones instead. They were his mum's favourite. She never failed to tell him how smart he looked when he wore them.

He watched his reflection in the mirror as he buttoned up his collar. His hair was ruffled and out of place, so he began to comb it, slicking it back with a bit of pomade. Barty Sr. always kept his appearance impeccable, and if his son didn't meet his standards, a long lecture would ensue.

"There," he murmured, staring at his slick-backed hair.

"You should be grateful you favour your mother," declared the mirror in a husky voice.

Barty flushed slightly. In all actuality, he was very glad that he looked like her. Except for his freckles, of course. Those damned freckles made him look at least five years younger. He hated it when other students thought of him as a young child, especially one student in particular.

"Master Barty!" A squeaky voice piped up. "Master Barty, you is better getting yourself down to the parlour, sir."

A tiny elf was standing to his right, and Barty nodded once at her. "Right, Winky," he said, giving himself a last once-over in the mirror. "I'm on my way."

Downstairs, he met his parents in the parlour. His father was looking very stern indeed. Mrs. Crouch beamed at him.

"Good," Mr. Crouch snapped. "You're here. I want to discuss a few things with you before Alastor arrives."

Barty looked at him coldly. "Are you sure that you have enough time, father?" He had no intention of veiling his bitter sarcasm.

Mr. Crouch, of course, ignored this. "Alastor Moody is an Auror for the Ministry, Bartemius, and he is one of the best."

_An Auror_? This peaked Barty's interest a bit, though he kept his thoughts to himself.

"I would appreciate it if," Mr. Crouch continued, "you keep your opinions about current politics to yourself."

As if he wouldn't.

"I'd rather you avoid talking about your housemates and friends as well, Barty. Moody's apprehended a few of them lately."

"Oh, of course," Barty answered tiredly. "We wouldn't want him getting the wrong idea about me, would we?"

Mr. Crouch's face went rigid and a few angry red patches appeared on his skin. "I am not joking around with you, Bartemius."

Barty opened his mouth to retort when his mother cleared her throat and spoke up. "I want a nice dinner, boys," she snipped, giving her husband a meaningful look. With that, she turned on a heel and walked out of the parlour towards the front door.

Mr. Crouch stared after her, and for a second, Barty considered questioning his father about his mother's health. Unfortunately, he never got the chance to, because the doorbell rang just as he opened his mouth to do so. Mr. Crouch marched out of the parlour, and Barty could hear Winky offering to take Moody's cloak.

"No, no. I'll keep it with me," a gruff voice protested.

"Hello, Alastor," came Mr. Crouch's voice. "Come in, come in. I hope you found us alright."

"Muggles everywhere," Moody replied gruffly.

"Yes, well, we do like our neighbourhood," Mr. Crouch said, "I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Helena."

"How do you do?" Her soft voice greeted.

"I've felt worse," replied Moody. By this time, Barty was curious enough that he decided to peek his head out into the hall.

Moody must have sensed his movement,because the old man swirled around on his feet and fixed Barty with an intense stare. Barty was so caught off guard by this that his mouth dropped open and his eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. Moody had pretty good reflexes for being such an old wizard.

"Well, don't just stand there, boy," Moody growled, "introduce yourself."

Mr. Crouch gave Barty a dirty look and spoke up. "Alastor," he started, "this is my son—"

"Barty, stop. I didn't ask you to introduce us," ordered Moody. Mr. Crouch's lips pressed together into a thin line, but he nodded and stepped back. Mrs. Crouch was staring at Moody apprehensively.

Luckily, Barty recovered quickly. "Bartemius Crouch, Jr." he answered, outstretching a hand. "Sixth year Slytherin." He could not help but grin triumphantly as he noticed his father scowling at him.

"I don't shake hands," was Moody's reply. "You never know where it's been."

Barty frowned, examining his hand for a moment before dropping it to his side. It wasn't as though he had been playing with bubotubor pus or anything. _What kind of wizard doesn't shake hands at an introduction_, he wondered.

"Winky's made us some drinks, Alastor," Mrs. Crouch said. "Please follow me to the dining room." She linked arms with Mr. Crouch and walked down the hallway, leaving Barty and Moody behind. Moody turned to watch them go before glancing back at Barty once more.

"Constant vigilance," he said, and winked. Then he made his way down the hallway, limping slightly, and twitching every time a portrait turned to look in his derection.Barty watched him and shook his head slowly before trailing behind towards the dining room.

Mrs. Crouch and Mr. Crouch waited for Moody to sit before taking their places, and Barty sank down into the chair across from Moody. His seat gave him an opportunity to observe Moody. The old Auror had so many scars that it looked as though he'd been chiselled out of wood. Still his eyes could be warm enough, especially if he was amusing himself.

"Wine, Alastor?" Mrs. Crouch asked, passing over a decanter.

"No, thank you. I hope you don't mind, Helena," Moody smiled at her, "but I've brought my own utensils and flask." He set the latter on the table as he rooted around in his robes for his silverware. "Old habits die hard," he added.

Mrs. Crouch exchanged a puzzled look with her husband, but if she was offended, she veiled it well. "That's fine," she said, and passed the decanter to her husband instead. Mr. Crouch poured himself a glass.

"So, Alastor, what can you tell me about the current rumours involving death threats among your fellow Aurors?" Mr. Crouch asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Can't tell you much, Barty. Idon't want all of our secrets getting out," Moody replied. Moody's black eyes flickered to Barty Jr., who had just raised aglass of pumpking juice to his lips.He nearly choked, and wondered if Moody wouldn't discuss the Aurors because he was present.

"Dinner is served," came a timid voice. Barty smiled at Winky, who was standing at Mrs. Crouch's side. She gave him a slight nod and snapped her fingers. Just like that, their meal appeared on their table and everyone began to help himself or herself to food. Barty was just about to pick up a Yorkshire pudding when he heard an odd sniffing sound. He glanced up and quickly surveyed the table, where he noticed Moody holding a stalk of asparagus under his nose. He had an odd look on his face as he sniffed at the vegetable.

Mrs. Crouch must have heard the noise too, because she went extremely pale. "Is there," she started, looking very worried, "is there something wrong with the food, Alastor?" She looked around the dining room, adding, "I'll get Winky right away." She placed her napkin on the table and began to rise out of her seat.

"No, no," Mood assured her. "Sit down, Helena, it's fine. I was just trying to figure out the marinade, is all."

Barty had the odd notion that Moody was actually sniffing for something like poison. He was sure he was right when he noticed that the old man would only eat something after he'd seen it consumed by another person at the table. It was almost amusing, and Barty made sure to take a bite of everything on his plate so Moody could enjoy his meal.

Mr. Crouch, however, pretended not to notice any of his guest's oddities and went forward with the conversation as though Moody's actions were perfectly ordinary. The two men chatted for a while as Barty slowly chewed his food. He had just picked up a forkful of asparagus when something Moody said nearly made him drop his fork onto his lap.

"…So I warned him that I'd turn him into a squirrel if he didn't stop chattering during our meetings. The fool didn't listen, though, or he didn't believe me," Moody said. "The next time he opened his mouth, I turned him into a squirrel faster than you can say acorn." He began to chuckle.

Mrs. Crouch's eyes became as wide as saucers, and even Mr. Crouch looked surprised. "I'd heard something about that," he said. "I thought it was a joke in the office. Something about you keeping him in a box with a twig and a leaf for a day and a half." He didn't laugh along with Moody, and in fact, seemed a bit trite.

"A day and a half?" Barty repeated, amazed. "And he didn't curse you when you returned him to his normal state?" This Moody was possible the weirdest wizard he'd ever met, Dumbledore included.

"Hardly. Knows I'm too quick for him. The Senior Ministry Official reprimanded me. I don't regret it though—it taught him a lesson."

Barty wondered if he could manage to turn someone into a rodent. Maybe he and Regulus would have to give it a try once the new term started. If they were able to manage it, maybe Regulus would even tell Bellatrix. He wondered if she would appreciate that. Probably not, he decided.

"Don't even think about it boy," Moody spoke up, suddenly. Barty was surprised that the old man knew what was on his mind. "It's written all over your face, Barty. You're practically shining with glee." He took a quick sip of his flask and shook his head. "The last thing Dumbledore needs in that castle is an outbreak of rodents."

Barty smiled ruefully at this, and ignored his father's glare. Mrs. Crouch busied herself by pushing her food around on her plate. "I'll be good," Barty snorted.

The rest of the conversation throughout dinner was pleasant and light. Every time Mr. Crouch tried to get information of the new rising and the Auror's plans, Moody would cut him off and change the subject. This disappointed Barty. He wondered if Moody wasn't saying anything simply because he had admitted he was a Slytherin. He began to regret his choice to do so.

Everyone but Mrs. Crouch's plates were empty before long, and Barty watched her suspiciously. She covered the contents of her plate with a napkin and raised her eyebrows at him, smiling. "All finished?" she asked. Barty nodded.

Moody wiped at the corners of his mouth and pushed his plate away from him, sighing. "That was just wonderful, Helena. I don't suppose you have a dessert planned, too?" His black eyes watched her hopefully.

She smiled back at him and nodded. "Apple dumplings for dessert." As soon as she spoke those words, Winky bustled in, clearing the leftovers from dinner, and serving them each a plate with a steaming dumpling.

Moody grinned at her. "Perfect." He took another swig of his flask and set in on the table with a thump. Barty found that he was rather curious as to what was inside of it. He considered asking Moody, but decided to oblige their guest first by taking a bite of his own dumpling. Moody's eyes flickered towards him for a moment before digging into the dessert before him.

"So, Barty," Moody spoke up suddenly, still chewing on his dessert.

"Yes, sir?"

"What kind of students are you hanging around with at school?"

Barty shrugged nonchalantly. "Just a few mates, really. Regulus Black, Julius Quinn, and I chat up Davey Gudgeon in muggle studies." Those were safe names, he figured. None of those boys had raised suspicions over their outside activities. Davey _didn't even_ _have_ outside activities.

"Black?" Moody repeated. "Any relation to Sirius Black?"

"His younger brother, sir."

"Good man, Black, a bit reckless, but an intelligent bloke, nonetheless. I hope his brother has the same principles." _He really had no idea_, Barty thought.

For the first time that night, Mr. Crouch looked at his son with relief. "Barty here is top in his class for Advanced Muggle Studies."

_Only because you made me sign up for it_, Barty thought bitterly. Regulus was taking Advanced Potions instead, and he never stopped teasing Barty about his love for mudbloods. Barty found this irritating, but it didn't really bother him, much. He knew it was a good idea to keep up appearances. After all, who would suspect that the top student in Muggles studies class was becoming more and more interested in supporting the Dark Lord's interests?

"Top of the class, eh?" Moody said. "Hm. It's a wonder he wasn't placed in Ravenclaw. You were in Ravenclaw, weren't you, Barty?"

Mr. Crouch nodded, his displeasure once again apparent. "Yes. Helena was a Hufflepuff. Barty's placement has been quite the conundrum."

"Ah well. It's the quiet ones you have to look out for," Moody said, gazing at Barty with an odd look on his face.

"He's a good boy," Mrs. Crouch said sharply. Her dumpling was left untouched on her plate, and she looked extremely pale. "My Barty is a good boy, just like his father was."

Barty felt like banging his head onto the table. He was nothing like his father, and he never wanted to be.

"Of course he is, Helena. You can tell he's bright. I just hope he stays on top of things in Slytherin house." Moody levelled his gaze with Barty's. "Don't let yourself get mixed up in the nonsense, boy.

"I'll try not to, sir," Barty replied.

Moody gave him an approving look. "You'd best do that. _Constant Vigilance_."

* * *

Later, after Moody had left, and Winky was busy stacking piles of dishes and floating them into the kitchen, Barty sat on the bottom of the stairwell. He was lost in thought over dinner and Moody,whom he found to be incredibly intriguing, despite all of his eccentricities. Barty decided that he wouldn't mind seeing Moody again, and might actually enjoy one of his father's ministry dinners for once. He recalled his father had mentioned something about having Moody over again after the holidays. He couldn't wait to tell Regulus about the old, nutty Auror.

Barty also hoped that he might be able to convince Moody to teach him how to transfigure someone into a rodent. Provided that his parents weren't around to see it, anyhow. He smiled to himself and brushed his hair out of his eyes. That would be quite fun.


End file.
